like we're going to war
by onlywordsnow
Summary: it was a tuesday but she can't remember the details; he just puts a smile on his face
1. prologue

**like we're going to war (one more night, maroon 5); harvey/donna ; r (maybe nc-17 eventually); 1.239 words;**

**it was a tuesday but she can't remember the details; he just puts a smile on his face**

**a/n: i don't know why**

* * *

She signs the papers without hesitation even though his eyes are on her, watching her with a slightly smug look that he knows grates deep down into her bones. Her eyes catch his and she smirks back; she can feel both lawyers in the room furrowing their eyebrows at the interaction. Old habits die hard - he wasn't _just_ her husband, didn't _just_ give her a child, but she knows him like she knows the back of her hand and nothing is going to change that.

She makes a point when signing not to hesitate, to focus on having a steady hand and make sure the ink is secure on the paper. She doesn't want her signature to resemble regret or hesitance, despite the fact that they are still so in sync in so many different ways. She knows that if her signature is anything less than perfect, he will know it because he knows her just as well as she knows him.

She glances at his signature, _Harvey Reginald Specter_, the way his _h_ has a hitch in it like he was having second thoughts or was only signing on the dotted line to appease someone other than himeself. Her mouth curls in a way that he knows she sees it and when she looks at him again his smile fades, jaw tenses. She shifts her gaze back to the papers in front of her, signing the last line - a lone tear sneaks out of her eye and splashes on the paper because she momentarily forgets the reasons why they are divorcing, forgets the bad and can only remember the good.

She wants to tell him that just because they've divorced it doesn't mean that she doesn't love him, doesn't mean that he isn't still part of her; she doesn't have to say it because he sees it. The way his knuckles turn white as he clenches his fist, swallows like it hurts his throat - she knows that he's thinking it too. She doesn't remember the reasons why they decided they shouldn't be together, she racks her brain trying to remember.

Maybe it was never about anything other than the fact that no one ever challenged them to imagine what their lives would be without the other.

"Okay, it's done," she says with a slight sigh, one that she hopes goes unnoticed; she forces a smile onto her face before she lifts her eyes, unwilling to let him see her right now with anything more than every ounce of strength she possesses.

She notices the way he quirks his eyebrow in a less than pleased manner, the way his eyes reflect everything he isn't saying; she thinks that's been the problem all along is that just because they can read each other they think they don't have to talk. She notices his tie is off kilter, less than ideal because something is on his mind. She doesn't have to ask what, just grasps the edge of the table with a tightened jaw and silently asking him to say something - _anything_.

"Do you need Ray to drive you to the office?" He finally asks as he pushes himself to his feet.

She offers him a small smile, slightly condesending as their lawyers gather up papers and files off of the desk, "you're not my husband anymore, Harvey, I don't need you to take care of me."

"Do you _want_ Ray to drive you to the office then?" He corrects himself; he smirks at her, the coy smile on his face making her roll her eyes as she wonders how they are ever going to move forward if they can't stop the ease between them.

Her lawyer touches her elbow and she tosses a glance over her shoulder to acknowledge his presence, his empty goodbye one that she honestly couldn't care less about even if she appreciates everything that he's done to help her. (Not that she needed much help in the first place because she's worked for a law firm practically her entire adult life, was married to a lawyer for the last 5 years. Despite the fact that she didn't need help, she knew it was the right way to handle it and demanded Harvey get a lawyer of his own outside of the firm. Begrudgingly, he agreed but mainly because she controls his calendar and conveniently penciled the meeting in.) Her eyes are on Harvey's, testing his resolve. There's something to be said for the way she can still read him, understand him - funny how this is all falling apart because they don't communicate.

"Harvey," she says his name with warning, "don't look at me like that. I know what it means. I'm a big girl. You have to trust me to take care of myself."

He gives her a half nod, "and what about Gordon?"

"He's four," she replies with a smirk, "and we will figure it out. Don't worry - I see the worry all over your face."

"You have to stop doing that," he teases, pointing a finger at her.

She shrugs absently as they both move towards the door at the same time, "old habits die hard."

"I have court in half an hour," he replies, a quick change of the subject, "are we going to do our thing?"

"Depends. Are you headed to the office?"

He pulls the door open for her, letting her exit the conference room first before he follows, "yeah. Why don't we just ride together?"

"But what would people think?" She counters teasingly; she can see the look on his face, the way it reads _reconciliation_.

She hates that all of this has ultimately turned into one fight gone too far, pride from two parties who won't back down, words that won't be heard out of either mouth. She knows he won't apologize, doesn't expect him to and never really has, acknowledges that something somewhere is off kilter and stayed off kilter for too long. She knows that she isn't blameless, that it's all of the things that she hasn't said and all of the ways she let the silence swallow her whole.

He's three paces behind her when he says, "I want to take Gordon to a Yankees game Sunday night, if you want to come."

"Are you asking me or suggesting?" She clarifies.

He tilts his head as the warmth from his fingers lights up the down button for the elevator, "I just think that it would be an experience that he enjoys more if his mom was there."

"Smooth, Specter," she comments playfully.

"I thought so," he replies, standing a little straighter with a smirk.

They step onto the elevator and ride down in a comfortable silence; she can't help noticing the way that his eyes fail into the space between them or how his elbow bruses against hers. She wonders if it's always been like this, silence that's almost unbearable as the space between them is filled with everything that they don't say but needs to be said. She wonders if that's the way it's always been but they just didn't notice it because they were too busy being preoccupied with work or sex or Gordon; she wonders if the real silence is because they no longer have the freedom to avoid anymore, instead they have to look each other in the eye.

She feels his fingertips brush over hers.


	2. i remember it well

**like we're going to war (one more night, maroon 5); harvey/donna ; r (maybe nc-17 eventually); 2,501 words;**

**it was a tuesday but she can't remember the details; he just puts a smile on his face**

**a/n: i don't know why**

* * *

It was a Tuesday, she can't remember much else than that - that it was some time between New Year's and Valentine's Day.

She can't remember the things that were said or done, the way it was a particularly boring day throughout. She'd woken up significantly earlier than him, sat on the bed with her cup of coffee perched in her hands as they idly chatted in the darkness even though he could barely keep his eyes open. She distinctly remembers thinking that it was all so innate, yet boring in a way that encroached deep within her soul and left her bones to ache. He smiled lazily at her under half closed lids, found her skin beneath the sheets and trailed his fingers along the warmth.

She remembers just thinking that she was so very _bored_; it was the first (probably the last) time she'd ever been bored of him.

His fingers tapped absently at her skin like it wouldn't be the last time and she's sure that he had intended to do it every day for years to come. The silence seemingly suffocated her, a moment of distraction when he pushed his hand further over the expansion of her skin - his body hot and cold against her at the same time. His words were quiet, gentle, lost in the air between them as the conversation seemingly halted and she thought maybe he'd fallen back to sleep because sometimes he did.

Just as she took another drink, she felt his hand slide up her thigh and his finger loop beneath the hem of her panties before pulling downward. She inhaled a deep breath, air invading her lungs in a way that she wasn't expecting. She felt his mouth collide with her leg, tis teeth dragging against her thigh as he discarded the material. He pushed her legs farther apart as he positioned himself between them.

_We don't have time_, she muttered warningly.

She felt the corners of his mouth tug upward against her inner thigh, _we have time_.

She checked the clock on the nightstand, saying again with more force, _we don't have time_.

_I'll be quick_, he repeated as he edged forward.

His lips lazily pressed against her skin, dragging the moisture of his tongue along her flesh until he reached her center. She didn't protest, just clutched her mug tighter in her grasp as he dipped his tongue into her. His teeth scraped along the sensitive flesh between her legs; she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth in response.

She wasn't sure that she trusted herself, so she set the mug down on the night stand, barely even able to breathe even slightly regularly when his tongue pushed into her bundle of nerves. His fingers trailed down her thighs while his other hand pushed into her hip, and she moaned gently, muffled into her cheek. He pushed his fingers into her with ease, teeth and tongue alternating gentle movements against her.

His thumb dug into her hipbone, keeping her from bucking her hips even if she wanted to. She squirmed, moved against him until she felt his tongue and his fingers work together at a faster pace. She breathed harder and harder, keeping her noises down in an effort to not wake up the other person in the apartment despite the fact that every noise seemed to echo off of the walls. She felt his cheek press against her inner thigh, his teeth nip at her skin, his tongue grazing over the sensitive spot between her legs.

True to his word, he had her coming in minutes. His gaze lifted to hers as he grinned, his fingers tightening around her thigh as he pushed himself upright so as not to release his warm breath on her skin any longer. He dropped moist kisses against her skin before he returned to his side of the bed.

Despite how easily they slid into sex mode, the day only escalated and turned into something that got too complicated and crazy. Words were said, she was bored because it was a slow day - it could have been anything. All she knew is that she looked at him just one time during the day and thought _this couldn't be it_, and she was fucking out - done, couldn't stay with him anymore. She didn't know what compelled her, doesn't even remember now what she said those few months ago to make him give her an understanding nod before walking away.

The ghosts of his lips still etch on her skin but his words are a blur; she can still recall the feel of his smile against her flesh.

* * *

Donna pushes the apartment door open, Gordon about 3 steps behind her because he's mildly distracted by the straps of his backpack. Her fingertips press into the door as she holds it open for him to walk beneath her arm in the space between her and the door, his tennis shoes scuffing the floor of the entryway from him dragging his feet. She taps him on top of his head as he walks by and lets the door shut behind him, tossing her keys, the mail, and her purse onto the table by the door.

"Pick up your feet, please," she requests a bit more harshly than she means to. She locks the door behind her before following the boy with strawberry blonde hair into the living room, his backpack discarded at the end of the couch. She silently chastises herself to give him a break because he knows what's been going on; she drags a hand through his hair and gives him a tight smile as she walks by him, "What do you want for dinner, buddy?"

"Mmmm," he starts, thinking about it as he plops down on the couch, "pancakes!"

She stills in her movements, lips parting only slightly to ponder how to tell her son that her pancakes are the ones he hates and he'll only eat what his dad makes. She bites back a sigh, one that represents distress because she can't deliver what her son wants at a time when he could possibly be experiencing emotional trauma. She's trying to be sensitive to it even though she (_they_she silently corrects) haven't lived with Harvey for months; they're all still adjusting.

"Honey," she starts gently, pleading with him to look at her, "I can't make pancakes. Your dad made the pancakes, remember? He'd put chocolate chips in them for you. You always said that I made them wrong."

"When's daddy gonna be home then?"

She frowns at the realization that he isn't getting it, that he doesn't remember that they moved into a smaller apartment while his dad kept the condo. Gordon forgets that he has two bedrooms, two sets of clothing, double the amount of toys but he doesn't get both of his parents anymore. It's official now, that he doesn't get both of them at the same time really anymore - not every day like he used to.

"Daddy doesn't live with us, buddy," she tells him; for the second time that day, a lone tear escapes her eye and trails down her cheek, leaving behind a streak of it's trail, "he won't be coming home."

"Oh," the boy breathes; she sees his bottom lip tremble just a little and her heart aches for him.

She sighs sadly, her eyes drifting closed because over the last 3 months he's gone from seeing Harvey every day to seeing him a few days a week. She doesn't think she can do this, limit Gordon to seeing his dad every other week and she thinks they need to figure something else out so Harvey gets as much time with his son as she does. She doesn't know what to do anymore and she's only just now realizing how complex this is all is for her son.

She reaches out and touches her fingertips to Gordon's head, her fingers sliding through his borderline too long hair. Her waist leans against the back of the couch as she rests heavily against it, wondering if her now ex-husband is still at work or if he's slowly but surely sliding back into his habitual bachelor lifestyle. It takes everything in her to keep her tears contained, forcing herself to keeping steady breathes and regulate an even heart rate.

She's afraid to look at her son's face, afraid that she'll see tears in his eyes so she forgoes moving around the couch to look at his face. She releases a tired breath, exhausted from silently fighting Harvey on all of the things that they aren't saying and wondering what it would take to keep their son from hurting. She knows that they have to build these walls over time, that they should at least be laying the ground work, but she cannot fucking do it for the life of her right now.

She's too tired of seeing her four year old son's silent pain.

"How about," she starts, voice shaky, "I call daddy and see if he wants to come eat pancakes with us?"

She can utilize the visit if he does, talk to him about their son's arrangements and how they need equal time with him. He's just a kid and she knows that he needs stability, but he wants both of his parents and she needs to be able to keep a distant life from Harvey. She knows they are vulnerable, only to each other, that they can fall back into some kind of fucked up version of a marriage if they aren't careful.

"Okay," Gordon agrees excitedly, his face lighting up.

Her fingertips momentarily tighten around the locks of his hair before she removes her hand from his head, her chest tightening at the realization that thanks to her son avoiding her ex-husband when at home isn't going to work so well. Considering she can't really avoid him at work, she was really hoping that she'd get a minimal break when at home. She tosses a sarcastic smile indicating her thanks to the back of her son's head, conceding and moving towards her purse to search for her phone.

She pulls out her phone, unlocks it, dials his phone number by heart; it's going to be a difficult habit to break.

The phone only rings once when he picks up, trailing off of his sentence before the phone is all the way to his ear, "Donna?"

"Hey," she replies a bit shakily, fingers playing with her hair as she leaned against the wall between the entryway and the living room. She hears him swallow thickly on the other end, her fingers absently tapping the wall. She decides that she doesn't want to give him a chance to say anything else, exhales as she lets her mouth move faster than her brain, "Can you come over? Gordon misses you and he wants your pancakes."

"I have," he starts but cuts himself off, a gush of air travels through the phone, "yeah. Give me half an hour."

A sigh falls out of her mouth, "okay."

She remembers a thousand (not literally, but still) times that he was home at a decent hour, that he read his kid a bed time story, spread his files out on the bed and bugged her until she helped him look over them. She'd call him a _baby_, roll her eyes, but help him anyway. She'd be his fresh pair of eyes, noting everything that he didn't see and bringing it to his attention.

She'd get bored, not because her husband was particularly boring but because she was tired of looking through the files with legal jargon laced on every line. She'd attempt to distract him by speaking idly about things that her sister said, her mother commented on, her father spoke about, but they never worked; always tolerant of her, he'd nod his head, ask fleeting questions that he only bothered to half listen to. So she'd unbutton the top button of the dress shirt just to see how much he was paying attention, stretching out and sliding her leg against his. He'd furrow his eyebrows, cast her a sideways glance and let a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

Her fingers would brush over his bicep (he'd call her a tease) and it would take all of 30 seconds for him to ditch the paperwork, taking her right there on every piece of information that Pearson Hardman had regarding that case; her engagement ring would catch in the material of his clothes or dig ridges into his skin while she would laugh into his mouth after biting his lip, her breath misting against his skin.

But that's all done now. Now it's just phone calls and pancakes and goodbyes. Now it's just nights alone in a bed too cold and the expected silence to swallow her whole. Now it's just her and Gordon and sometimes just her. She can suddenly remember what it's like to hear the sound of her own voice, to be able to think without interruption.

She hates it, the way that when Gordon falls asleep the only thing she can do to entertain herself is listen to him breathe. If she finds herself tossing and turning too much at night she ends up in her son's twin size bed so her body can adjust, the sound of his gentle hums and the warmth of him lulling her to sleep. She hadn't expected this kind of reaction when divorcing her husband; her mind gets it but her body doesn't understand.

She hangs up the phone without saying goodbye, it's never goodbye - never really anything at all, just an open-ended understanding that they will see each other again, in seconds or minutes or hours or (more recently) days.

She tightens her lips as her gaze shifts to her son, "daddy's coming over. Take your bag into your room, please, before he gets here."

Gordon does as he's told, continuing to ramble about everything that happened throughout his day like he was doing on the way upstairs. She nods along, listening to him talk about how Hillary has a tiger and he really likes them and he wants one. She laughs at her son's demeanor when he disappears into his bedroom, always amused by his innocence that she long ago lost.

He returns with his shoes off, khaki pants and navy blue polo shirt still firmly attached though and she thinks that's one for the win column in and of itself. When Harvey shows up, it ends up being a progression of laughter and _help daddy make these pancakes_and talking about baseball that she doesn't really understand while she watches the boys in the kitchen. He doesn't talk about work - in fact, he hardly addresses her at all, the silence filled with lingering glances and familiarity.

She's going to really hate herself for all of this, she already knows.


	3. on the threshold of eternity

**like we're going to war (one more night, maroon 5); harvey/donna ; r (maybe nc-17 eventually); 3,240 words;**

**2, on the threshold of eternity (ghost on the canvas - glen campbell)**

**it was a tuesday but she can't remember the details; he just puts a smile on his face**

**a/n: i don't know why**

**a/n2: this is for Anne's b-day!**

* * *

She's looked at her ex-husband approximately 58 times in the last 2 hours, noting every line and contour in his face and how something seems to be off. He isn't telling her something and she doesn't know if it's work related or if it's personal. All she knows is that she chickened out and couldn't bring herself to talk to him about Gordon.

The way she sees it is that Gordon is her saving grace. He's the one thing that keeps her sane and keeps her from falling apart; he keeps her grounded in a way that she wants to tell the world that he's hers, keep him to herself and not share him with anyone. Not even Harvey. Even though she knows how much Harvey loves Gordon, how much Gordon loves Harvey, her entire world feels like it's upside down.

She's no longer married to the man that she loves with her whole heart, no longer knows what she's allowed to say to him and what she isn't. She's been trying to bite her tongue more often lately, trying to choose her words wisely and cut herself off before she says to much. She's been trying and she thinks that's what is important.

Her dress is a little short, just a little - not too much and not for any particular reason. It just seemed to happen in a way that wasn't planned, giving her just enough edge when she walked her kid to school. She's thankful for Debbie, that she picks Gordon up from school when she picks up Vincent; her sister has been helpful over the years - always patient and kind and doing everything she can. Debbie doesn't know what happened and Donna doesn't know yet if she's going to tell her.

Her parents don't even know that her and Harvey had split up, doesn't have the heart to tell them that the divorce was finalized. She feels like if she just throws that on them she'll be bombarded with questions that she maybe even doesn't have an answer to. She wishes it was simple, but it isn't. It's complicated - they've always been complicated.

She remembers the first time that he kissed her. They'd known each other for a while, for a long time really, she'd been his assistant for years - close to their 6th anniversay (an office joke that started and she could only guess _who_ started it). He was there with another woman, she can't remember her name but she was tall and blonde and unabashedly stupid; not to mention, she (_Julie? Jennifer? Jasmine?_) laughed like a heyena.

She didn't usually go to events but the client had insisted. If she were honest, which she hasn't admitted to this day, she was his date; his name was Ethan Edward Emerson (which she found odd in a way that he was a bit sexy). She remembers the client's name because things turned severly awkward for a few years and Harvey never heard the end of it from Jessica because the firm was dangerously close to losing him as a client all together.

She'd sneaked away from the party because she was disgustingly filled with disinterest, took the first opportunity she had to dip out of her date's eye sight the moment he was distracted. She had wanted to leave, had wanted to run out of there without so much as a word to anyone else but she didn't, despite Harvey's teasing smirk as he motioned to the exit. Instead, she chose to ignore him and sneak out to the balcony overlooking the city.

She hadn't expected company when she escaped, simply the silence of the sky with the faint echo of the city below. Life in New York City was _not_ like Cortland. Cortland's buildings weren't miles high, they didn't disappear into the clouds, they didn't become one with the sky. The streets weren't packed with cars; Cortland was only a memory and New York City was her reality now. But in the sky, the silence was golden and that's why when she heard his voice her shoulders straightened and her fingers clutched her glass.

_I thought you hated these things_, he commented from behind her.

He came to a halt beside her, his own fingers circled around a glass quite like hers. They always have had the same taste in alcohol, she remembers, a bitter taste the collides with itself when he did finally kiss her. But it was like a waiting game, the way his eyes traced her and he took a quiet moment to appreciate each area of exposed skin. She absently licked her lips when she caught his eye.

He smirked and said, _who's the lucky guy?_

_No guy_, she protested.

_Good_, he countered, _means I don't have to feel bad for telling you how incredibly sexy you look_.

_Harvey_, she warned.

He lightly shook his head, fingertips etching closer to hers, _Donna, I want to..._

She smiled sadly, a lone tear sliding down her cheek because she knew where it was going, _please don't do this here_.

_I want to. I have to_.

But Harvey's eyes on her now are nothing like they were that night. They don't indicate want or need or desire - hell, they barely resemble a gaze of understanding. She thinks that he might have checked out, that when he looks at her at all, he doesn't see what he once saw or maybe that he's beginning not to see anything at all.

It pangs her to think that he could ever look at her and see nothing - she's _just_ Donna: his secretary, Gordon's mom, not anything special.

"Donna!" His voice slices through the intercom, breaks her train of though.

She jumps to her feet, stifles a sigh, and goes into his office to see what he's calling her for. She thinks that maybe it's been strained lately, at least since the divorce was actually finalized, and she's beginning to become unsure of what is okay between them and what isn't. She pushes a hand through her hair, auburn locks slipping beneath her manicured nails, and looks at him expectantly in hopes that he can close some of the silent gaps between them; she's probably hoping for too much.

"Do you have the-"

"Not yet," she interjects, "still waiting on the fax."

A smirk toys at the corner of his mouth, "get them on the phone and see what the hold up is."

"On it," she returns.

"Where's Mike?"

She shrugs half heartedly, "copy room."

"Can you get him to do that other thing I wanted you to do?"

"What thing?" She asks, folding her arms over her chest and quirking her eyebrow.

"Run the Perkins report," he counters; she furrows her eyebrows in confusion but doesn't fail to notice that his eyes are trailing down the expanse of her, "I thought you needed to leave early today."

"Oh, so you do listen when I talk?" She counters.

He narrows his gaze at her and tilts his head in that way that has always made her melt, especially after 5 years of marriage. That look tells her that he isn't kidding, that he can't believe she would think otherwise, how he just wants her to understand. Silently, she thinks, understanding has never really been a problem.

"Debbie and Charles are driving to his parents so you have to pick Gordon up from school," he finally says; her look of disbelief slowly fades, "why doesn't Ray drive you?"

"Because you're not my husband anymore," she reiterates, "or is the fact that we don't share a bed at night not indicator enough for you. _Good morning, Harvey, this is your daily reminder that you are no longer married to Donna._"

His jaw tightens and his eyes narrow even more, "do you think you're funny right now?"

"I'm hilarious," she counters. He fails to see that her humor is merely masking her pain, the fact that she has regrets of not being married to him anymore and not living in the same house as him anymore and not sharing a bed without him anymore. Everything that was good about their marriage is simply a memory, one that has been tainted by the realities of themselves. "Listen, I have this real hard ass for a boss and if you want me to pick up our kid from school on time I better get back to work."

"Sounds like a real asshole," Harvey muses with the smallest of grins.

She counters his look, "he is."

* * *

Her heels echo on the floor despite how busy it is, how much noise is being produced by the associates and other secretaries - it's like the entire office is beneath her. She's always found it oddly amusing how she is high on the power totem pole even though most places she'd probably be deemed a lowly secretary; then again, she does have her citywide connections. If her mother knew how much pull she has, she'd be proud.

Her fingers push into Gordon's shoulder at her side in a silent encouragement for him to pick up the pace before he gets left behind; it isn't often that he comes to the firm because it can be rather boring (in Donna's opinion, anyway). She thinks it would be unfair to expect him to be quiet every day, not run around and play, to be professional at such a yound age. That's why Debbie has been such a big help all these years. Donna used to be extremely annoyed by her sister's ability to overstep, but now she's just grateful for the help.

"Go tell your dad hi real quick and then get your book out," she says to her son quietly.

"Can I tell daddy?"

She offers him a tight smile as he looks up at her a bit excitedly, "if he isn't too busy. Daddy still has a lot of work to do today before he can go home."

"I want to go home with Daddy."

She forces a smile onto her face, lips stretched in a bit of defeat, "we'll see."

Gordon spots his dad's office and takes off in a run, the material of his shirt sliding out from beneath her fingertips with ease. She lightly shakes her head as Harvey grins, drops his pen to his desk, and turns his chair just in time for their son to throw himself onto his lap. She reaches her desk and pulls out the bottom drawer of her desk with her foot to drop her purse into it, her eyes drifting to the father/son interaction.

She feels every emotion she's been trying to ignore as her eyes take in the scene from the office, the intercom a low hum as it echos the conversation between them. She remembers a time when her thoughts would have called them _her_ boys, but that's only a dull memory now. She sits down in her chair and unlocks her computer because there's still plenty of work left to do; she thinks Gordon will be back at her desk soon enough. She feels horrible that he's going to be confined to a chair. Maybe someone will give him entertainment.

Here's to hoping.

"And what did mommy say?" She hears Harvey ask Gordon through the intercom.

"She said we'll see."

"Your mommy is a smart woman," Harvey replies. She sees Harvey's fingers tap against Gordon's ribs before the bursts into laughter; a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. If only things were easier. "What else happened today?"

"James is going to play t-ball. I want to play," Gordon says, his fingers finding Harvey's tie.

Harvey laughs, "that's my boy. Did you talk to your mom?"

"No," Gordon counters with a slight pout. Donna crosses her legs at her ankles, turning her chair only slightly to watch on. Harvey narrows his eyes and tilts his head, fingers automatically sliding through Gordon's hair, "she hates baseball."

"She does not. She secretly loves it. She went to that Yankees game with us last week, didn't she?" Her ex-husband questions, "we'll make time for it."

"Will you teach me?" Gordon asks, eyes lighting up.

"Of course I'll teach you," Harvey returns with equal enthusiasm. He reaches across his desk and grabs the only baseball he lets anyone's finger touch and squeezes it between his fingers. Reaching around Gordon, Harvey spreads his palm out and places the baseball in it. "I played baseball when I was younger, you know?"

"Mommy said you got hurt and couldn't play anymore," Gordon explains.

Harvey laughs as his eyes drift to the woman perched behind the desk right outside his door, "she did, did she? I'm sure she left a few things out though."

Donna smirks at him, knowing full well that he knows she's listening just as she always is. Harvey lightly shakes his head at her before shifting his gaze back to Gordon. Gordon's fingers slide down Harvey's tie before he seeks out his father's fingers. Harvey tickles Gordon some more until his son slides out of his grasp.

"I have some more work to do, buddy, but you can sit in here with me if you want to," Harvey says with a shrug; Donna bites her bottom lip because _that_ was not something that she was expecting.

* * *

Donna Paulsen (because she'd opted against the last name change, she is _her own woman_ afterall) checks on Gordon out of the corner of her eye to see that he's fast asleep on Harvey's couch in his office as the sunset casts its rays over him before she grabs the file at the edge of her desk and stands up. She motions to Harvey that she's going to go shred the papers just to be sure that he'll be all right with their son asleep, but he lifts his hand rolls his eyes at her. Of course he's fully capable of caring for their child, but that doesn't stop her from trying to be sure everything is taken care of.

_Old habits die hard_, she keeps repeating to herself.

She thinks she's probably reminded herself of that nearly 200 times in the last 3 months (_3 months, 1 week, 2 days_, she corrects), but it isn't working - not the way that she wants it to. She wants her habits to change. She wants to stop reading his every thought, every move, every desire, every need. She wants her life to be different than just the unspoken words that never pass between them. She doesn't want to live in silence and expect more; at least now she expects silence and isn't hurt or bored because she's getting it.

Donna sighs as she inserts her papers into the paper shredder, flips the switch as it swallows the white, irrelevant legal forms to shreds. She likes the way the noise surrounds her and how quickly it stops. She doesn't know how to describe that maybe it's because she weilds such power and control over something, especially since now her life seems so out of control.

Just a few more pages and she's done, quickly returning to her post to see that nothing has really changed except now Harvey is intently watching Gordon sleep. His chest rises and falls easily. She knows there's a smile on her face because she understands the distraction, the one that has happened to her so many times over the years too. She's seen it happen to him a handful of times, usually when she'd wake up in the middle of the night and walk in on him watching over their son. She can't help but wonder how many other times he might of done it.

She swallows, carries her long legs into his office just to see if he needs her help with anything.

"He looks so peaceful, doesn't he?" Harvey asks, his eyes never leaving Gordon.

She nods in affirmation, "he does."

"You know," Harvey starts. She sits down at Gordon's feet, her fingertips finding his ankle and brushing over the bone. He doesn't budge and she wonders if it's because he's content or tired. Her eyes catch Harvey's from across the room, the space between them feeling bigger than it actually is. "He doesn't sleep this soundly when he's with me."

"Me neither," she muses, "he tosses and turns. I usually wake up and he's in my bed."

"Mine too," Harvey agrees.

Harvey pushes himself to his feet, lets his legs carry him to the couch and allows him an ease to ignore any work that he might have left. His toe collides with the coffee table and he grunts in response. She feels the couch cushion shift beneath her as he sits beside her, his fingertips smoothing over her skin just below the hem of her skirt.

She doesn't say antyhing right away, just swallows as her eyes drift back to her ex-husband. She can feel a tightening in her throat as their eyes lock, the way his fingers are lingering on her skin. Her breath hitches in her throat because she can't bring herself to make him stop touching her, can't make his fingernails stop scratching her skin, can't force him to quit edging her skirt forward.

Her head falls back, rests against the back of the couch as his fingertips slide to her inner thigh to trace circles. He smiles that familiar smile that he seemingly only saves for her, and it makes her heart ache. She absently licks her lips as he leans forward; his lips touch hers and everything around them seems to just stop.

His palm pulls her skirt upward, his fingers pushing beneath her leg. His tongue sweeps over her slightly parted lips, parting them more until it touches her teeth to count the ridges. Her tongue slides over his, she counts the seconds before her hand touches his chest to push him away; she makes it to nineteen.

"What are we doing?" She asks in a whisper, her breath catching in the space between them and clinging to his cheek.

His eyes briefly close as he hides his face in the nape of her neck, "I don't know. I just-"

"We can't keep doing this, Harvey," she interjects softly.

She doesn't bother to move his hand because she can't bring herself to take that kind of control, not when everything inside of her wishes that she could take it all back. Instead, she squeezes her thighs together to trap his hand where it is, her breath feeling heavy in her lungs. Her lip trembles against his forehead, her mouth lingering against his skin, and she lifts her hand to Harvey's chin.

"Where did we go wrong?" He asks, finally lifting his head and offering her a smirk.

"Harvey," she starts, lets his name hang in the air between them.

He tilts his head, "Donna."

There's silence. Her eyes trace his face, faltering to his lips. She swallows because she can't say anything; she releases a sigh, her fingers sliding down his chest.

"I can't. We can't."

"Yeah," Harvey absently agrees, a small laugh leaving his mouth as his eyes crinkle, "you're right. You guys should probably get home."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll bring him over tomorrow afternoon," she says as he relinquishes and puts space between them; she watches him paint the facade on his face when they were so close to making headway.


End file.
